eparing for departure, entered
the room.

Willis was a slight, under-sized man, of about fifty; his complexion was
muddy and indefinite; his small whiskers, of a grayish red, were trimmed
and pruned as accurately as a box border-edging, and the partial absence
of eyebrows and eyelashes gave his face a sort of unfinished look. The
expression natural to it was, I think, a low, vicious cunning; but his
features and little green eyes were so rigidly disciplined that, as a
rule, neither had any characteristic save utter vacuity. In his own line
he was perfect. No commission that could be intrusted to him would draw
from him a remark or a look of surprise. He executed precisely what he
was told, and fulfilled the minutest duties of his station
irreproachably, with a noiseless, feline activity. He was like the
war-horse of the Douglas:

"Though somewhat old,
Swift in his paces, cool, and bold."

He held a miniature-case in his hand as he entered. "Am I to put this
in, sir?" he asked, in the slow, measured voice that was habitual to
him.

His master gazed sharply at him, as if trying to detect a covert
sneer--it would have been safer to have stroked a rattlesnake's crest
than to have trifled with Livingstone just then--but Willis's face was
as innocent of any expression as a dead wall.

"Put it down, and go on with your packing; you have no time to spare."
The man laid the case on a marble table near, and went out.

Guy took the miniature and regarded it steadfastly for some moments,
then he looked up and caught my eye. Perhaps there was an eager appeal
there (for I knew well whose likeness lay before him) which displeased
and provoked his sullen temper; for he frowned darkly, and then his
clenched hand fell with the crashing weight of a steam-hammer. Nothing
but a heap of shivered wood, glass, and ivory remained of what had been
the life-like image of Constance Brandon.

A thrill of horror shot through me icily, and a low cry burst from my
lips. I felt at that moment as if the blow had fallen, not on the
portrait, but on the original.

But I kept silence. The dark hour was on Saul, and I knew no spell to
chase the evil spirit away.

Guy spoke at last. His manner was unusually chill and constrained.

"I expect to meet Mohun in Paris, and we shall probably go on to Vienna.
I hardly like troubling you with commissions, but I must. Listen. I
leave my own name--and another person's--in your keeping. I